


Untouchable

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, and sherlock says things, in which john is an angry kitten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2013-10-17
Packaged: 2017-12-29 16:45:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Answers are the key to the past, but John is hesitant to unlock it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untouchable

John had never known quite what it was. That first day in St Bart's Hospital, meeting Sherlock for the first time - some invisible force, a little voice in the back of his mind, had told him that this man was different to everyone else.

Lestrade or the others could have told him that already - Sherlock was certainly different - but they'd mean a different sort of different than he did. They'd mean he was antisocial, odd, even frightening, whereas John had immediately thought of him as interesting. Fascinating, complex, untouchable.

That word was the only thing that came to mind now, standing in the doorway to their flat as Sherlock played the violin, his back to the doctor. It had been two months. Two months since that day.

* * *

 

John unlocked the flat door slowly, taking a deep breath. It had been a year today since - since Sherlock fell. The image of his best friend, though John would never admit he wanted it to be more, still haunted him, the crimson blood trickling past those glassy eyes. He'd stayed in Baker Street somehow, though everywhere he looked, it was as if Sherlock's ghost was standing there, watching him with his intelligent eyes. The ones now dead and gone, like a lightbulb smashed and broken, the only light fading.

He opened the door, slipping his bag off his shoulder before he looked up and around the room. At first, he thought he imagined it; he rubbed his eyes, squeezing them shut in the hope that the vision would go away and stop tormenting him.

When he opened them, Sherlock was still there.

"Hello, John."

 

* * *

 

John still wasn't sure why he'd just let Sherlock back into his life, only a few simple questions asked, which Sherlock answered supposed it was down to his desire for the man to be back in his life, that meant he'd let him just slide seamlessly back even if it hurt. No questions asked, they were just back to normal, Sherlock-and-John. The inseparable pair they'd always been.

His flatmate had stopped playing the violin, putting it away gently with the care he only reserved for his beloved instrument. John stepped inside tentatively, with the intent to ask a proper question about the six months Sherlock had been away for. Why he'd left John alone, left him there with no hope left, left him to cry alone at night, cry for his lost friend.

"Sherlock?"

He was met with those calculating, cold yet intriguing eyes, as usual. "What is it, John?"

John hesitated, before deciding he was in too deep to back out now, and asking anyway. "Why did you leave? After you - you jumped."

Sherlock simply raised an eyebrow. "Does it matter now?"

"Yes." John felt an odd sort of anger rise in his chest - anger that Sherlock had left him for so long, hadn't realised how much he meant to John. "You left me here for a whole year, alone! I'd like to know!"

Sherlock stayed as cool and calm as ever. "I did it to protect you, and Mrs Hudson, and Lestrade. I've told you that."

"That's not a reason! Where were you?" John knew it was pointless taking it out on Sherlock now, but he still felt he needed answers.

"France, Spain, Germany-" the consulting detective paused- "and I believe I spent some time in Luxembourg."

"Doing what?"

"Unravelling Moriarty's little web." Sherlock looked almost bored now, eyes flitting occasionally to where his violin now lay. This only made John more angry.

"Oh, and only you could have done that, I couldn't have possibly helped you-"

Something flared in Sherlock's eyes then. Something John hadn't seen before. Remorse.

"I wish you had." he said, turning his back on the doctor. "Don't think I didn't miss you, John."

John paused, feeling guilty. "Sherlock, I-"

Sherlock just shook his head, his back still turned. John took a step towards him gingerly, now sorely regretting yelling at his flatmate.

"I'm sorry-"

"I thought sorry wasn't good enough, John."

Biting his lip, John remembered the time he'd said that in another argument, one with Lestrade that time. Lestrade had yelled at Sherlock - for the same reason as John now had - and John, as always, had fiercely defended his friend.

"Well, I am anyway."

Sherlock was silent and still for a moment, before his shoulders started to shake. Stepping forward, John frowned, before he realised Sherlock was laughing.

"Sherlock?"

His friend didn't answer him for a minute, before turning to him. "I take back what I said, when I first met you. It can't be boring in your little minds. You're too busy caring."

John wasn't sure if that was a compliment or one of Sherlock's strange, venomous insults, until Sherlock stepped towards him. They were only half a metre or so away now.

"I'm sorry too, John." It was a compliment then, he thought, looking into the detective's ocean-like eyes. Blue-green, stormy, and deeper than anything he'd ever seen. He wasn't aware of Sherlock's next movements, until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"You want know why I left?" Sherlock asked softly. John gazed at the taller man, nodding.

"Because I didn't want to hurt you by coming back again so soon." he said. "Because... well, I care about you."

John raised an eyebrow at him, not quite following, until he realised. "Oh." His heart was beating about fifty miles an hour - had Sherlock actually said that?

Sherlock smiled slightly. "Oh indeed." Taking a risk - ordinary activity always was - he looked down at his best friend, and kissed him.

 

* * *

 

"I love you."

"I love you too, John."

Lestrade paused, smiling slightly. There was a case - another murder, they never seemed to stop in these parts of London - and he needed the detective's help. But as he stood outside the painted door, hand poised to knock, he smiled and turned back to the stairs. Let them have their moment together, he decided. After all, with all they'd been through, they needed it.


End file.
